


Nothing But The Rain

by Claire



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-15
Updated: 2003-09-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: In which Angel turns up at Wesley's with Drusilla in his arms





	

He's not expecting anyone, and certainly not at four in the morning, which is why Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is wary of the knock when he hears it. A sharp rap on the door, hurried and somehow urgent. Carefully closing the book in front of him he slides the gun out from underneath one of the couch cushions, one of several weapons that have been scattered around the flat lately. He shouldn't need to use it, people and demons coming to kill you are rarely polite enough to knock first, but there's still the niggling thought in the back of his head. It's a niggling thought that blooms into full-blown suspicion when he opens the door and sees the figure standing there.

"I need your help."

The whimpering body in Angel's arms looks small, but Wesley recognises her straight away.

"I can't keep her at the hotel. Not with Connor there. I needed someone I trust."

"And you chose me?" Words deprecating and incredulous at the same time, the conflicting emotions vying for dominance.

"I chose you." Angel's reply is solemn, honest. But, truthfully, who else is there? Fred and Lorne both live at the hotel, Gunn could hardly take Drusilla back to his, and Connor stakes out Cordelia's as much as the hotel. Besides, ever since the Harmony incident Phantom Dennis was under strict instructions that the only vampire allowed in Cordelia's place was Angel. So, when it all comes down to it, he's nothing more than the only choice out of a bad situation.

"Please," Angel adds at Wesley's hesitation.

He's more than tempted to slam the door in Angel's face, more than tempted to tell him where to go. But then Drusilla whimpers again and any words that well in Wesley's throat are swallowed. Opening the door further, he steps back.

"Come in. Both of you," he adds, knowing he really only needs say the words for Drusilla. Because he's never revoked Angel's invitation, never barred the vampire from access to him.

Angel nods in gratitude as he steps through the door and heads straight for the couch, laying Drusilla down gently.

"What happened?" Wesley asks the question as he moves into the kitchen, placing the gun he's still holding on the table and retrieving a packet a blood from the fridge and slipping it into the microwave for a few seconds. He's never stopped keeping a fresh supply of blood in the flat, never questioned himself as to why that is, doesn't question himself as to a lot of things lately.

"Kurnesh demon, I think." Angel looks at him as Wesley walks back into the front room and hands him the dark red pack. "She turned up at the hotel like this and those are the only words she's spoken." Slipping into gameface he opens the packet with his fangs and holds it to Drusilla's mouth, encouraging her to drink.

Wesley nods. It would make sense; Kurnesh demons feed on energy and the energy of vampires is their preferred choice.

Moving the now empty blood pack away from Drusilla's mouth, Angel drops it on the coffee table next to him. "She'll need more blood throughout the night." He brushes back a lock of hair from her face.

"I know." He knows the symptoms of a Kurnesh feeding, knows that the only path to recovery for those who survive is blood and rest. He's studied the books on the Kurnesh, once researched a proposal from the Council that they could be used to help the Slayer in her fight against vampires. He even decided it was possible, if only you could get past the inherent xenophobic paranoia that caused Kurneshs to only venture out of their lairs when they needed to feed.

"Do you have any?" Angel's words pull him out of his reverie. "I can go and get some if you don't."

Wesley shakes his head slightly. "Don't worry, there's enough in the fridge." Because the bottom shelf is still Angel's, is still ready for Angel to come back.

Angel glances up at window, the crescent moon giving little enough light. "I need to go. There's a nest of vampires that's-"

"Angel, you don't need to explain." Wesley knows that before everything else Angel is a champion, before everything else Angel will defend the innocent, even over those closest to him. He manages to swallow the snort he feels rising in him. After all, it's not as thought he counts among those people any more, hasn't counted among them since he took a child he thought he was saving.

But Angel doesn't move, gaze moving between the still figure on the couch and Wesley, moving between concern and apprehension.

"Angel." Waits until the vampire is looking at him. "I'll take care of her."

A beat and then, "I know you will."

And the ghost of Connor that lies between them fades just a little more.

*

Drusilla is barely asleep for thirty minutes before the quiet whimpering starts again. Wesley had moved her into the bedroom when Angel had left, leaving the door open so he can hear her when she gets restless. Moving the book of prophecies he's researching to one side he walks into the kitchen and puts another blood pack into the microwave. Opening one of the drawers while the blood is heating up, Wesley removes a knife, carrying it into the bedroom along with the blood.

Sitting down on the bed he carefully punctures the blood pack with the knife, wryly noting that Angel's method was probably easier. Gently, he lifts Drusilla's head and holds the pack to her mouth, murmuring encouraging words as she starts to drink.

Minutes later the blood pack is drained and Drusilla settles back onto the bed, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

Leaving the vampire to get more rest, Wesley picks up the knife from where he'd placed it on the bedside cabinet and heads back towards the kitchen. Dropping the empty packet in the rubbish bin, he stands next to the sink, absently running the bloodied knife under the water. So this is what years of Watcher training comes down to, nursing an ill vampire back to health in his bedroom. His father would be so proud.

*

Drusilla sleeps for longer this time, nearly an hour passing before she becomes restless. Fetching the blood and the knife, Wesley once more opens the pack and sits next to her, gently feeding her the red liquid.

"Daddy," Drusilla murmurs, her lips stained deep pink as Wesley lays her back down on the bed. Moving some of the surprisingly soft hair from her face, Wesley looks down at the peaceful features.

"Ssh," he soothes, stroking her hair until she's asleep again.

Carefully standing up so he doesn't shake the bed, Wesley crosses over to the window, darkness creeping into the room through the open curtains. Closing them pre-emptively against the glare of the sun that's threatening to rise, he walks out of the room and leaves Drusilla to her sleep. He had hoped that Angel would return to retrieve his errant child and take her back to the hotel during the day, but it looks like that's not going to happen.

The day follows without incident. Wesley uses the gaps between Drusilla's feedings to research several new prophecies that he's translated, silently cursing the lack of sleep that's starting to make his handwriting look more like an illiterate scrawl with each passing word. Rubbing his eyes, he walks into the kitchen, pulling a mug out of the cupboard and setting the kettle to boil. He's just about to pour the boiling water into his mug when a noise causes him to turn. Dark eyes watch him intently.

"Miss Edith says the milk should always go in first," Drusilla says, lilting London accent somehow a little piece of home in LA.

"Miss Edith is quite correct," Wesley replies, continuing to pour his tea, but not turning his back on the vampire now standing in his kitchen.

"You looked after me." Drusilla walks closer, closing the gap between them to mere inches. "There were lights and colours and Daddy and you."

Wesley doesn't speak as Drusilla studies his face.

"Precious kitten." There's a hand on his cheek, as cold as it should be but somehow too small. "Daddy's kitten."

"I'm not Angel's." The words are soft, without vigour.

//I am you faithful servant.//

But Drusilla doesn't reply, just continues to look at him. "Daddy's kitten," she insists after long moments. "That's why the demon who moves through time lied."

Sahjahn. And Drusilla's touch is suddenly too cold. Wesley moves back, the hand sliding over his cheek in almost a caress.

"Wasn't concerned about the child who shouldn't have been born. Knew that Daddy and Daddy's kitten together would destroy him. The stars sing it," she adds seriously. She pauses, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "Daddy needs to know this." Moving quickly, she closes the distance between them and kisses him lightly on the cheek, the scent of blood and perfume washing over him in alight wave. Tilting her head, she listens for a moment and then smiles. "The stars are dancing tonight, and everything will be how it should be."

And then she is gone, leaving Wesley standing in his kitchen with nothing to show for her visit but a bin full of empty blood packs and a head full of tired confusion.

*

The knocking on the door drags Wesley out of sleep. Pulling himself out of bed, he heads towards the door, déjà vu washing over him when he opens it to find Angel standing there.

"We need to talk." Angel steps past Wesley, not waiting for the invitation he already has. His eyes flick around the room, resting on the couch for a brief moment.

"She's gone." Wesley has to bite down on the sudden urge to clarify that it was nothing to do with him and Drusilla left under her own power.

"I know. She came by the hotel. She sang a nursery rhyme at Lorne and then left." Emotion crosses Angel's face for a second, and Wesley wishes he could recognise which emotion it was, but he's tired and confused and isn't about to trust what he thinks. "About two minutes later Lorne all but threw me out of the hotel and told me to come here," Angel continues. "All he said was, 'Sahjahn lied, sweetcheeks. Talk to Wes.' So here I am."

Wesley's sure Angel's words are making sense, but he's only been asleep for about one hour out of the past thirty-six and it's starting to feel that way.

And Angel must realise something because he's looking at him with concern in his eyes. "You should be in bed."

He wants to agree, but, "You said we need to talk." He knows Angel is right, knows that there are some things he needs to say to the other man now that he's here, now that he's listening.

But Angel is insistent. A hand that's as cold as Drusilla's, but somehow just the right size, presses gently against the small of his back, chill seeping through his t-shirt and branding into his skin. Guiding him through into the bedroom, Angel motions towards the bed. "Sleep."

"Will..." Wesley trails off, not sure how to voice the question that's running through him, not sure how it will sound if it leaves his lips.

"Sleep, Wes." Angel's tone is soft but firm. "I'll still be here when you wake up."

"Will you?" The words slip out, unbidden.

"Yes." A vow, a promise.

Crawling back into the bed, Wesley lies down.

"I'll be in the other room." Angel turns to leave, but there are words in Wesley's throat and they won't stay silent.

"The bed's big enough for two."

Angel looks at him for an eternity. And Wesley wishes he could take the words back, because this is too awkward, too clumsy. But then Angel moves, shrugging out of his long coat and kicking off his shoes.

Wesley feels too self-conscious when Angel gets onto the bed, but then an arm wraps around his shoulders and pulls him closer. Tension melts away as he rests his head against Angel's chest; the silence of the unbeating heart more soothing than it has a right to be. And he's sure everything will work out in the morning. Because he's here, and Angel's here, and maybe it's not everything Wesley wants, but it's a start.


End file.
